


Promises, Promises

by sherlollymouse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1618538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlollymouse/pseuds/sherlollymouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has made a promise, but will he keep it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You’ve done so much for me, Molly.” His dark curls shook as he turned his attention to the floor. “But, I need your help, again.” Forcing himself to meet her eyes, hands behind his back, he slowly began to approach the steel spined pathologist. “This is much more dangerous than last time…” For a long while, she studied his face in the silence of the lab, an all to familiar scene to both of them.  
“You… you think I might die.” It wasn’t a question.  
“I will do everything in my power to keep that from happening.”  
“What do I need to do, Sherlock?” The should-be-dead man’s lips twitched; fighting a small smile.  
“When we’re done this time, Molly… whatever you want… I’ll find a way to give it to you… I swear.”  
“Just tell me what you need.”  
“You.”

 

————————————————————————————————  
It’d taken a lot out of her, but Molly was proud of herself. Allowing herself to be used as bait, she had been taken through the wringer… Moriarty had enjoyed being uncharacteristically handsy with her in front of Sherlock to get a rise out of him. It had been scary. Rape wasn’t his modus operandi, but his thrill out of their discomfort made her wonder if he wasn’t above it. She kept her cool, though, trusting Sherlock and the plan; convinced it was all for the best, she would have gladly died to defend her friends, particularly Sherlock.  
Molly even thought, at several points during the confrontation, he’d been impressed with her… Jim Moriarty certainly was.  
When he’d grabbed her to hang her over an indoor balcony, she’d quickly wrapped his tie around her wrist; refusing to fall five stories down onto a marble floor alone. After throwing his head back to laugh, Jim told her how surprising she was and they ended up in a stalemate, despite his death wish.  
It was over now.  
Over for now, she supposed. He was still alive.  
Now, she stood outside Sherlocks Baker Street flat, staring up into the window. It was raining and cold that night.  
He had made her a promise, though, and she was going to ask him to fulfill it.  
Mrs. Hudson let her in and with every step she took up to the little apartment, her determination grew. Nothing was going to stop her, absolutely nothing….  
except for the fact that Sherlock wasn’t alone.  
“Oh, hello.” She said, apologetically, having not announced herself before waltzing through the open door into the sitting room. The Watson were perched on the couch, Mary, expected to have her baby any day now,laying on her husband sleepily and Sherlock was standing beside his chair, gazing out the window.  
“Evening, Molly.” The detective smiled at her. “I was about to text you…something wrong?” Obviously, he’d deduced her disappointment, in the slight drooping of her signature, cheery smile, her posture or her stance… having turned her feet slightly inward. With a small sigh, she shook her head.  
“No, of course not. I just… should have knocked.” Molly readjusted herself to her former, more confident pose.  
“Right.” He didn’t believe that was all, she knew, but allowed her the half truth. “Don’t worry about it, Molly, the door was wide open.” Diverting his attention from her, he leaned over his laptop.  
“Could we talk…. in private?” If she’d have blinked, she might have missed it; his eyes went a smidge wider and a flash of something….., was that panic?, lit up his pupils.  
“I’m a bit busy at the moment, Molly.” Again, he’d turned away, even taking a seat now in front of the computer.  
“You just said you were about to text me.”  
“Yes.” Still no facial acknowledgement.  
“So… well, what did you want?”  
“I made you a promise, Molly… I rarely do that sort of thing.”  
“I wanted to talk about that, too.” Finally, his face tilted her direction.  
“Good, well, thats settled… whatever you need, text Mycroft. He’ll help you.” She was certain she could hear the elder brother scoff…. wherever he was.  
“He can’t help me with this, Sherlock.” Molly felt all three sets of eyes burning into her at that moment and after a beat, the small squeak of the desk chair was enough to break the silence in the room. “May we talk alone, please?” She was resilient and stood straighter, not bending to his attempt to tower over her when he approached; studying her.  
“Kitchen.” He finally spoke, ghostly eyes pointing the way and she obliged. Molly didn’t stop until she reached the fridge and she heard the glass sliding doors close before he replied, low and slightly irritated. “What do you want, Molly?” The brunette swallowed hard, still facing the appliance.  
“I am fairly certain I’ve deduced something about you,” Turning to him, she took a long inhale and slowly approached him.  
“Molly,” He interrupted. “say the word and you’ll be off to some island paradise somewhere, or have a new, quiet life in some tiny village and your very own modest cottage…”  
“I don’t want any of that.” She shook her head, not letting him finish,and stepped toe-to-toe with him.“Theres only one thing I want you could possibly give me… so, did you mean it when you offered?”  
“What do you want?”  
“You.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHORS NOTE: I rewrote this a few times because, fair warning, Sherlock gets a bit physical with Molly. I took a lot of the dramatic flair I originally wrote it with out. Considering I tried to write this from her perspective anyway, I feel that was best, but again.. no matter how its written, its still there and may bother some people. I did keep it brief.

For a very long while, the two stood there in silence. He was obviously confused… what had he thought she wanted?  
Right, the two options he named… they both included her going away. Far away, in fact.  
“You’re sure this is what you want?” He tilted his head.  
“Yes.”  
“Me…? You really want…me?”  
“Yes.” Scoffing, he gave her a little smile.  
“You know you deserve better, right?”  
“‘Better’ is subjective.” The steps he began to take toward her were almost predatory and his shoes made a faint clicking sound in the silent of the flat.  
“You know what I mean.”  
“Yeah, I do.” She relented. “And I’ve tried it.”  
“You’ll regret this.” He’d stopped so close to her, she could feel his breath shift her hair.  
“Maybe. But, I’ll regret not doing this more.” Molly said.  
“What makes you think I’d be agreeable to… this?”  
“I told you, I deduced it.”  
“What exactly did you deduce?”  
“You’re nicer to me since your return, for obvious reasons… we’re closer now. But, you still treat me almost exactly the same around John.” It was her turn to take a more predatory stance, walking around him in a circle. “I can watch your pupils dilate when we talk, your heart rate increases…”  
“You think because I exhibit certain signs of chemical release in your presence that I would be open to this?”  
“Yes.” Sighing, he took her wrist.  
“Fine. I should still have some condoms somewhere if you’ll give me a moment.” Molly pulled herself away when he began to direct them both to his bedroom.  
“Thats not what I’m asking for.” Again, Sherlock’s expression could only convey confusion, so she continued on. “I made one more deduction, one that makes me believe we want the same thing.”  
“And what was that?” He scowled a bit, adjusting himself to stare her dead on.  
“You asked me out.” Panic lit his face for a brief moment and he took a few steps back.  
“When?”  
“After you came back, you asked me to solve crimes with you.”  
“I solve crimes with John all the time. They’re not dates.”  
“Yes, but that afternoon was.” There was an extended awkward silence between them before Sherlock spoke again.  
“You’re asking for… a relationship?” He relaxed a bit and adjusted into his former dominating stance.  
“Yes.”  
“You’ll definitely regret that.”  
“Well, then,” Molly closed the gap he created between them. “That would be my problem, wouldn’t it?” Without much warning, his glassy eyes fogged over a bit and grew darker.  
“You don’t seem to know who you’re talking to.” Sherlock growled.  
“I think I do.” The brunettes eyes remained determined and steady as he searched them… looking for something. Seemingly out of frustration from the results, he drew back a moment before flinging himself forward, grabbing her and pinning her against the wall.  
“No, you don’t,Molly. You may think you know me, but you have no idea what I am capable of.”  
“I know you better than anyone possibly could.” She hissed. John must have heard the commotion in the kitchen. Molly didn’t look up, but she heard him slide open the door and hurriedly approach them, swearing at Sherlock.  
“Don’t be daft, Molly. You know nothing.”  
“If you’re trying to frighten me, it’s not working. But, your message is clear.”  
“What message is that?” Stilled affixed to the wall by his strong arms, she smiled.  
“That you’re scared.”  
“Scared?” He laughed. “I’m not scared.”  
“Of course not.” She shook her head. “Now, put me down, you’re hurting me.” Finally, Molly felt herself sliding back down the wall and when her feet finally met the floor again, she felt his grip release. “If this is what you want, Sherlock, thats fine.” Brushing herself off, she didn’t meet his eyes at first. “But, don’t act, for a moment, like you didn’t think about it and like you don’t wish you could have it.” It was always nice to get that look from him she always got when she surprised him, and she made sure to keep the upper hand. “You could, Sherlock. It’s not my fault you’re scared.” And with that, she left him with an angry friend demanding answers, pausing only once to say. “By the way, you never said it wasn’t a date.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I first read the 'missus headcanon' posted by sherlollyheadcanons, I immediately took it on.But, this exchange here, that I wrote between the characters was inspired by the one of benedicted-cumberbatched lovely prompt fills.I immediately knew I had to do something like it because I’m convinced there would be a conversation similar to that between the characters. Anyway, with benedicted-cumberbatched’s permission, I borrowed from her a bit… or a lot….I dunno. Lol.
> 
> Not much editing had been done, though. Please, keep that in mind.

“You and the missus still fighting?” Wiggins asked, bringing a plum to his mouth.  
“Apparently.” Sherlock groaned. Billy Wiggins had been looking around,pointedly, deducing he was getting creative in his kitchen in order to avoid the lab, Sherlock didn’t like that.  
“You know,” Wiggins spoke around the food. “most men would get their ladies something… like flowers or chocolates… when they’re fighting.”  
“We’re not together, Billy.” He spat his guests name.  
“Well, you sure knew who I was talking about when I called her your ‘missus’.” Wiggins smiled, wiping a bit of juice of his chin before taking another bite. Not having a retort, Sherlock returned to his microscope. “She’s not mad at you, you know.” He offered the detective comfort.  
“Don’t you have things to do?”  
“You’re getting defensive.” Sherlock tensed up.  
“Good deduction.” He replied, in a threatening tone.  
“Hello?” A jovial voice greeted from the stairwell, knocking at the kitchen door. “Mind if we come in?” John gestured to his wife and the baby she was holding.  
“Not at all, come in.” Sherlock nearly danced over as he retrieved his god daughter from her mothers arms.  
“He’s trying to avoid a conversation anyway.” Wiggin snorted, giving Mary a knowing look.  
“Billy, you didn’t.” She whispered, harshly.  
“Didn’t do what? What wasn’t he suppose to do?” Turning away from them, he’d set up a little bassinet behind John’s chair and laid the infant in it. Sherlock had totally taken on the role as a third parent when Sheryl was born.  
“I wasn’t ‘spose to call her ‘the missus.’” Wiggins replied, digging in the fridge again.  
“Not you, too.” He moaned, turning to Mary, who threw up her hands.  
“Billy mentioned it to me, I agreed with him.”  
“Right. What are we talking about?” John asked, trying to emphasize his annoyance.  
“Nothing.” - Sherlock “Molly.” - Mary “Dr. Hooper.” - Wiggins  
All three gave their answer at once, Wiggins casually biting into a pear as he closed the fridge.  
“Huh.” A smile slid over Johns face and Sherlock grumbled at it. “Molly, eh? Billy, I thought you said she was flirting with you last week.”  
“She was.” He smiled.  
“Liar’s. You’re trying to make to me jealous.” Sighing, Sherlock returned, once again, to his slide.  
“We’re not lying. I had lunch with her yesterday.” Knowing they were all watching him, he simply hummed an acknowledgment. “She seemed keen to go again, I —“  
“Stop it, Billy.” Sherlock couldn’t stop himself. As the words came flooding out of his mouth, he knew he was taking the bait… that their lunch had just been a friendly one, but he couldn’t take back control. “You know as well as I do that Molly deserves better than some dirty, drug addicted, sociopath, no matter how smart he is. Have some respect and back off.” Replacing his eyes back in the viewer, mostly as a distraction, he used the control he’d found again to stop himself from shuddering in the dead silent flat.  
“That’s very telling.” Wiggins turned to Mary, breaking the heavy quiet.  
“How so?” He asked, fumbling at the dials to look busy.  
“Well, only one of us in this room has every been called or calls themselves a sociopath.” Sherlock hadn’t even realized the words he’d used… hadn’t really been thinking, just talking. He rarely did that, rarely lost control. But, ever since he could remember, Molly had always been an exception to every rule he knew and lived by. Leaning back, he took a few silent breaths and fidgeted a moment, before responding.  
“The point still stands.”  
“Ya know, she’s waitin’ for you.” Wiggins opened the cupboard behind him, tossing the pear core in the rubbish. “She’s done dating…well, for now.”  
“Why don’t you just talk to her?” The army doctor crossed his arms.  
“We did talk.”  
“That was that fight a month or so back.” The ever helpful Wiggins filled him in.  
“Oh, well, that makes a lot of sense.” John said.  
“Sherlock, what exactly is the problem?” Mary was retrieving her fussing daughter from the bassinet. “She’s heavily embedded in your work, even understands it. Hell, she even understands your odd behaviors and your obscure need to work…. I don’t understand what your afraid of…. its Molly.”  
With a sigh, Sherlock quietly relented.  
“I think you’ll find you answered your own question. Excuse me.” Without another word or further acknowledgment of the others, he rose from his chair, donned his coat, and disappeared into the streets of London.


	4. Chapter 4

It was raining that night when he came to her door, reeking of cigarette smoke and a little bit of Dutch courage.   
Theres nothing exceptionally remarkable about it raining in London, but a nearly drunken consulting detective standing at your door at a odd hour with a look of defeat and worry on his face was well worth a letter home.   
“Did you need something?” She asked, blocking the doorway.  
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Clumsily, he gestured beyond her.  
“Aren’t you going to apologize?”  
“For what?” Her eyes widened and she motioned to close the door, but, before she could, he reached out and stopped it.  
“I’m sorry for hurting you, Molly. It was completely out of line and character.”  
“And…”  
“And I was scared…”  
“And…  
“And… and what, Molly? What the bloody hell do you want from me?”  
“A thank you would be nice.”  
“A thank you?”Molly scoffed at his confusion.  
“I could have called Lestrade and had charges pressed against you that very night,Sherlock, and, frankly, I should have. If you ever, ever touch me like that again you will more then your reputation to worry about, I can assure you.” He swallowed hard, willing himself to look her in the eyes.  
“Thank you, Molly. I—I didn’t deserve such understanding. You are right. My behavior was inexcusable.”  
“Ok.” She said, softly, propping open the door and turned her back to it to perch herself on the couch.   
A bit unstable from the drink, he stumbled his way inside, closing the door and collapsing on the nearest chair.   
For what felt like a long time, he simply watched her, reading a book in her pajamas in her glasses by the light of the lone lamp on her the whole of her flat.   
“I’ve been thinking,” Sherlock finally broke the silence. “The perhaps I was a bit —“ His face twitched as he searched for the word.  
“Of a idiot? Of a twat?”  
“Yes, thank you, but the word I was searching for premature.”  
“Premature?” Finally, she closed her book and set it aside. “You were a bit more then premature, Sherlock.”  
“I already asked your forgiveness, Molly.”  
“Yes, well, now you have to regain my trust.”  
“I understand.” He said, after a moment. “But, I—did you still wish to—“  
“Of course, I still do, Sherlock. But, you need to do this right. Take a few steps back and figure out where to restart from.” She sighed. “I still feel the same about you. I still want to be with you. But, now that this conversation is over, I need you to show me this is what you want again. I don’t want to think you’re agreeing to this as part of our bargain.”   
Molly returned to her book and leaned back in her seat. Sullen, Sherlock nodded and rose from his chair.   
“You should sleep here on my sofa tonight, Sherlock. You don’t need to wander the streets of London pissed.” She sighed, rising from her seat and grabbing a blanket from the closet. “Sit back down, I’ll get you some water.” He didn’t argue and, in fact, was still snoring softly in her living room as she left for work the next morning.  
——————————————————————————————  
Relief flooded him as he regained enough consciousness to remember what happened the night before. Sherlock was, to say the least, happy to not be hungover and surprised he’d slept so late on her couch. He’d expect to wake up before her and steal away in the wee morning hours, but he’d missed the irritating chirps off his cell phone. It was rare of him to sleep so late and anywhere but his bed, but, he supposed, it was a frequent occurrence when he wasn’t sober and he’d drank last night.  
Wearily, he flipped through his phone, noticing a small array from messages, most recently from Lestrade.   
Lestrade would have to wait. He need a bath, some food, and to brush his teeth.   
He was nearly gagging on his saliva. Hopefully, he’d be able to find a cabbie it wouldn’t offend.


End file.
